


The Waterfall in the Undercroft

by DAfan7711



Series: Dragon Age - Short stories, Vignettes [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although dual-blade rogue is my favorite class, it is damned useful to be a lady mage sometimes, especially if you want to have a hot shower in a waterfall with Commander Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waterfall in the Undercroft

**Author's Note:**

> In my stories, lovers usually meet behind closed doors, but this one invites the reader in to experience the whole shebang. Rated Mature for sexual content, NSFW. Triggers: brief references to previous torture and addiction.
> 
> To write this only from one viewpoint instead of completely omniscient was hard! Um, difficult. It was difficult. ;)

**The Waterfall in the Undercroft**

Inquisitor Trevelyan hung her Tyrdda staff in her bedroom closet and carefully shelved her unused potions, dusting travel grime from them and tossing her camping satchel on the bed. She hadn’t had time to unpack last night before dinner, and then Bull kept everyone up late toasting the Abyssal High Dragon.

Thank the Maker Josephine had hot baths waiting for everyone when they got home yesterday afternoon. Otherwise, with all the rush, she’d still be wearing a week’s worth of dust.

But she’d sparred with Dorian and Solas today and had streaks of fresh soot in her hair, so it was time to clean up again. While she planned what to do next, she toyed with the loose ends of the leather strap that held her deep-honey hair up in a tight bun.

She pulled her white robe off the hooks behind the door. In the pocket was one of the scented soaps Varric had managed to bring in from an Ostwick contact. Trevelyan laid the robe on the bed, folded it in half, and rolled it into a tight bundle to fit in her satchel.

Someone politely tapped on the door. Only one person would be brave enough to approach the Inquisitor’s quarters and yet knock so lightly.

“Come in, Josie.”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You’re packing. Are you going somewhere?”

“No, just tidying up. What have you got?”

“Missives from Orlesian nobles eager to say they were your friends before you publicly stabbed the grand duchess – really, was that necessary? And directing the Commander to put her head on a pike . . .”

“Absolutely necessary. Plus, the pike was Cullen’s idea and he shouldn’t have put it in my head if he didn’t want to do it.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Josephine handed her the bundle of parchment.

“I’ll read them later.” The Inquisitor stacked the pages together and put them in her desk drawer.

“Varric’s hosting another game, tonight, but Cullen”—Josie’s lips twitched and the ladies grinned at each other—“can’t be found anywhere and Varric asked me to invite you . . .”

“Thank you, Ambassador, but I’m going to wash my face and go to bed. I’m sure your Antivan charm can get the Chargers to chip in some gold.”

Josie laughed, kissed her cheek, and waved merrily over her shoulder as she closed the door.

The Inquisitor eyed the porcelain water pitcher and basin on her side table, only large enough for a sponge bath.

“Nope. Tonight I’m in the mood for running water. And I know just where to find some.”

She took of her boots and put them under the bed, tossed her stockings into the basket Josie and Leliana had given her for her birthday, and grabbed her bag from the bed.

She paused at the door just long enough for a little magic, a trick she’d taught herself early in the Circle, when she wanted to be alone but couldn’t escape everyone: With a wiggle of her fingers, Fade energy trickled down her scalp and shoulders, down to her toes. It was cool, and gentle, and secretive. She looked where her hand should be and saw the stone tile. She was invisible.

With a giggle, she opened the door and snuck barefoot down to the throne room.

It was dusk and the only light in the hall was from the fires of Varric’s fireplace and the stone basins that lined the walkway. A few stragglers stood around chatting and she didn’t want them to see the Undercroft door open by itself, so she sat her invisible self down in the Inquisition throne and watched the dignitaries trickle out into the sparring yard.

Cole, the only one in Thedas immune to her stealth trick, walked by and stared at her. She grinned and put a finger to her lips for silence before gesturing that he leave. She saw comprehension dawn on his face and he nodded before continuing his bouncy shuffle over to Varric, who was conversing with the mosaics curator.

“Hey, kid, up for another round of Wicked Grace? Ruffles is dealing again. Don’t suppose you found Curly?”

“No, Cullen told me not to pry.” Cole followed the two dwarves out toward the tavern and the outer guards closed the front doors.

She jumped up from her seat and entered the Undercroft, locking the door behind her.

The room had no back wall, except the water rushing from above and tumbling down Skyhold’s mountainside. Several feet from the precipice, the smith and arcanist had put up a little wooden railing behind the potions table and other equipment, though no one other than the Inquisitor ever visited them down here, so she didn’t know who they thought might fall over the edge.

She breathed in the mist, reveled in the water’s roar.

“Alone at last.”

Dagna had left candles burning on the two crates she used as tables by the door, but Trevelyan wanted a little more light. She flicked a finger and a series of torches lit up along the side walls. With a sigh, she ambled down the steps into the main room, patting the new storage trunk on her way. The damp floor cooled her sore feet and she forgot all about running from rage demons and phoenixes.

She took her robe out of her satchel, placed her scented soap on the wood railing, took off and put all of her dirty clothes into the satchel, and put the robe on. She stuck a hand into the chilly falls to wash away her invisibility spell, then sat on a crate in front of the potions table, leaned back on her hands, and just watched the water.

After a few minutes, she felt someone approach the door. They felt deep, warm with power over magic—that ruled out a dwarf. Or maybe it was someone who could _suppress_ magic. The Fade certainly wasn’t sparking up her nose the way it did when a mage approached. She stood, but couldn’t hear footsteps through the door and over the crashing water. Then she heard a key in the lock and smiled: Only one person with Templar powers had a key to the Undercroft.

“Hello, Cullen,” she greeted him before he was all the way through the door.

“Maker’s Breath! Inquisitor, I thought everyone had retired for the evening. I was just returning a shield to Dagna, though there aren’t any rune slots in it, so I have no idea why she needs it.” Avoiding eye contact, he walked over to the arcanist’s bench and gently lay the shield down.

“And you polished it, too. How kind. You’re even still wearing your gloves, so you don’t get fresh fingerprints on it.” She couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice.

“Well, I—”

When he finally turned to speak with her, he was struck dumb.

“What? Cullen? Hell-lo, Thedas to Cullen.” She took a step closer and waved a hand in front of his face.

“Yes, forgive me, I didn’t realize you were expecting company,” he averted his eyes and gestured toward her robe.

“Company? What makes—oh,” she laughed. “Cullen, do you honestly think I’d accost bald-and-moustached-smithy Harritt down here after he nearly gets me killed because he wanted to save a few hammers when Haven was on fire? That, after I ask you if you’re available, and I stop to talk to you in your office ten times more than anyone else, and I ask about your family, and I even play board games one-on-one with you every time you ask, and I refuse The Iron Bull’s advances”— _that_ revelation had his head snap back up to look her in the eye—“that I would seriously, honestly, go through all the trouble—and just a day after a huge, exhausting dragon battle, no less—all the trouble to try to hook up with someone other than you?”

He gave her a sheepish smile and she grinned back, but then she suddenly became somber and looked at her bare toes.

“Did you mean it? On the battlements, when the scout interrupted us, when you said you didn’t hate mages anymore, that it terrifies you that you might not have cared for me if we had been posted in the same Circle? That you’re not afraid of me, that you—that you . . . care for me. That fantastic, impulsive kiss. Did you mean it?”

He cautiously took the two steps forward to close the distance between them. He took one of her hands in his, used the other to gently lift her chin.

“Yes, I care for you. I love you. Even the desire demon that caged me in the Feredlen circle didn’t terrify me as much as you staying behind as the bait in Haven, buying us all time to get out while you faced an archdemon alone . . .”

He caressed her chin, his gloved hand as cool as the night air.

“I’m mostly scared that I’ll hurt you,” he whispered. “I haven’t touched Lyrium in months, but I was a Templar, I killed abominations my colleagues helped create, I witnessed Meredith make mages Tranquil and said nothing, and I sometimes dream I’m back in that cage.”

He dropped his hands to his sides, yet his gold eyes still searched hers, greener than the most Dalish of forests, for answers.

“I love you too, Cullen. The worst you can do to me is break my heart, and even that I can endure.”

Then she wrapped her arms around him and claimed his mouth with her own.

She gripped the mane of his coat in one hand, the back of his neck with the other, and reveled in the textured fur against her cheek. He gripped her hips, the brown leather of his gloves making it difficult to find purchase against her smooth cotton robe. She plunged her tongue in his mouth and he pressed even tighter against her.

She slowed the kiss, suckled his lower lip, and eased back from him, sliding her hands along his arms. Cullen stood stock still, breathing open-mouthed, watching her progress.

Leisurely, Trevelyan undid her belt, slid off her robe, and folded it neatly on the potions table, ever-aware of his gaze following the curve of her back and bottom as she bent over. His gaze never left her as he pulled off his gloves, stuck them in his coat pockets, and folded his coat up next to hers.

He reached for the buckled straps on his shoulders.

“Allow me,” she breathed.

She undid the heavy buckles and held up the shiny piece of armor.

“What’s the term for this shoulder guard?”

“A spaulder,” he chuckled. “Good thing I know how to outfit our troops.”

“Of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s landed the killing blow on a dragon.”

“Of course, Your Worship.”

She helped him with his arm guards, bracers, and shin armor, carefully placing each next to his boots, then kissed him again.

He clutched her bare hips with his bare hands and she pressed harder against him. Sand from the sparring ring covered his smooth breastplate, a bit of fine sandpaper against her bare chest. She savored the texture against her and reached up to massage his stubbled jaw with her thumb while she deepened the kiss.

She pulled back and hurriedly helped him with the leather straps of his breastplate. As she placed the last piece of armor on the table, he tossed his breeches and underwear there, too.

They grasped and groped at each other, their skin warm with joy, his loose, sweat-soaked cotton shirt now the only barrier between them. The laces of his shirt were undone, showing off his collar bone and upper chest, where she planted open mouthed kisses while he groaned out her name.

“Shirt. Off. Now,” she demanded. He yanked it off over his head and tossed it in the general direction of their other clothes, all semblance of order and restraint gone.

She grabbed him by the hair to pull him into another kiss. He pulled the leather strap from her bun and her hair cascaded around them both. Like a parched man thrusts his hands into a pool of fresh oasis water, he plunged his fingers through her deep-honey hair, just a few shades darker than his own blond.

As she explored his scalp with her fingers, she came across a piece of eggshell.

“What’s this?”

“Sera,” he grunted, “Got me from the tavern roof.”

“You, Commander, need a shower.”

She took him by the hand and led him toward the waterfall.

“The water’s freezing and we’ll fall.” It was the same indignant tone he’d used last night when she’d placed her first bet: _You haven’t even looked at your cards_.

She waved her free hand and an arc of gold light appeared in the water directly in front of them, just wide enough to cover two people—if they were real friendly. Along the length of the arc fluttered tiny gold and orange flames that sizzled and made a steamy stream of the water that passed through them.

“Playing with fire? Is that why you have soot in your hair?” He ran his free hand down the back of her head, down the length of her hair to where it stopped mid-back, down her bare back and bottom.

“Ahh,” she purred and pulled him over the railing into the now-steaming water.

They’d slowed again, gently washing each other’s hair and running the scented soap bar along each other.

Then she dropped the soap and ran her hand down from his throat, down his chiseled chest—another wonderful surprise revealed at that first card game where he’d bet and lost every stitch of clothing—down his full, erect length, making him gasp.

“I need you in me. _Now_.”

She jumped him and wrapped her powerful legs around his back. He reached for the wooden rail, scraping his hand.

He stumbled backward out of the steamy water into the cold, spun her around into the pocket of air between the side wall and water. He thrust all the way into her hot center.

Ice-cold water poured down his back and her ankles that she had crossed behind him.

Hands braced on either side of her against the rough stone wall, he thrust into her in a frenzied rhythm until she threw back her head and screamed his name. They crested together and he was spent, quivering.

“Not done yet,” he muttered, still inside her.

With his right hand he plunged two fingers into her. She gasped and moaned and gasped some more as he worked and wriggled until he found just the right spot to make her again scream his name in ecstasy.

Now they were both beyond words, huffing and puffing, barely able to keep upright on trembling legs. She eased herself down to stand on the floor while they held each other for balance.

He shivered.

She recovered her voice first. “Let’s warm you up.”

She led him out of the now-cold waterfall and, with a wave of her hands, called up a hot gust of wind that instantly dried them both. He reached out to confirm with touch that her hair was completely dry.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Well, I don’t think my magic can coif your hair quite like you usually do.”

He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Let’s go,” she said, throwing on her robe and donning his coat over it. “We need a softer surface for the rest of the night.” She grabbed her satchel and made for the exit.

He stared after her a moment, then yanked on his breeches and caught up with her at the door.

“We can’t run through the hall half-nude!” he hissed.

“We could.”

He sputtered.

“We could—but, even if the hall’s not empty, no one will see us.”

She lay one hand on his scalp, the other on her own, and called up Fade energy for her invisibility trick.

“Oh, I can still feel us both, but I can’t see us.”

“It’s okay. We’ll hold hands, but I’m pretty sure you could find my room even without my help.”

“Your room?”

“Yes, there’s no way I’m staying in your loft until you patch the roof and get some blankets.”

“How did you know I need more blankets? You, uh, haven’t visited me cloaked like this before, have you?”

She couldn’t see him, but judging from the movement of air, he was probably rubbing the back of his neck again.

“No, but, now that you mention it, maybe I’ll have to try it. Never tried voyeurism before.”

He sighed.

“Seriously, though, Cullen, I only know because I have to sign off on the weekly requisition reports. I haven’t been invading your privacy.”

“It’s okay. Any time, anywhere, you can seek me out.”

“Good.

“Okay, so, no more talking until we’re up there. This cloaking ability doesn’t cover sounds.”

Still holding his hand, she peeked out of the Undercroft door, sprinted past the throne, and dragged him up the stairs to her quarters. She led him to the wash basin next to the bed.

“Now, we put our hands over the basin,” which was easy to do in-tandem because they were still holding hands, “and a bit of running water washes away the spell.” She poured water over their joined hands and could see him again, his eyes wide with wonder.

A cool gust of air slipped through an open balcony door and glided across his chest. He shivered.

“Oh, sorry, I’m never cold.” She trotted over to the balcony to close the door. He sat on the end of the bed to examine her room in the dim light.

Across from the stairs, her simple desk stood in front of two full bookcases between two sets of glass double doors out to her private balconies overlooking the mountains. To the right of the stairs was a wide stone fireplace with smoldering embers.

To the left was a settee for two and a large Free Marchers bed between the doors to the closet and her loft overlooking the room. A single rug sporting the Trevelyan crest covered the stone tiles near the bed.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what, Cullen?” She paused in front of the fireplace.

“When we spoke on the battlements, that you don’t care I hold no title outside the Inquisition?” He gestured toward her family crest.

“Of course. Love doesn’t care. I don’t care.

“Cullen, you’re more noble than any gentleman that has ever visited Skyhold, or even Denerim. Even more than that cute bastard who sits on Ferelden’s throne, though don’t ever tell the Hero or Sister Nightingale—or Varric—that I said so.”

There he was, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“Your accommodations are lovely.”

“Thank you. You’ll see them better with more light.”

She dropped her satchel and shed her robe and his coat with one swift, smooth motion, into a pile on the tile in front of the fireplace. Then she threw her hands in the air and magic flames jumped up from the embers, surrounding her silhouette with an orange-gold glow and dancing shadows.

He remained perched on the end of the bed, still as the stone.

“Well,” she fisted her hands on her bare hips. “Are you just going to stay there, slack jawed and staring all night, or are you going to make love to me?”

He closed the distance in two swift strides, scooped her up, and carried her to the bed, where they made sweet love wrapped in soft sheets and warm blankets.

A few hours later he woke. Reaching for her, his hand found only a warm empty spot in the bed. He raised his head to find her crouched down, naked as a nug, building up the fire with logs.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

“Still at least three hours before the first watch.

“Magic fire is warm,” she said as she added another piece of wood, “but I like the smell of a wood fire.”

She straightened, picked up her robe and satchel, and put them away in the closet. She went back and picked up his coat, rang her fingers along its fur ruff.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “It’s warm from my fire.

 “Feels warm inside, too.” She watched him swallow as she slowly slid it on over her arms, drew his gloves from the pockets and pulled them on. “Even the gloves are warm.

“How do I look?” She turned to show him her side profile, one hand on her hip, the other thrown toward the ceiling.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he breathed out.

She sauntered back to him, his coat moving with every other step to show a peek of her breasts. He swallowed again.

She slowly bent down to give him a soft kiss on the mouth.

“You’re kinda cute yourself, Curly.

“Now, lay flat.”

She climbed on top of his hips, pulled down the blankets that separated them and ran her hands along his penis, cupped his testicles in her palms. He groaned deep from his throat with pleasure, pressed his skull back into the mattress, closed his eyes.

Her hands guided him between her own legs, where she was already soft and wet. Slowly they rocked higher and higher.

“Cullen.”

His eyes flew open to watch her. She took a deep breath, threw her head back, rode him harder, faster, running her own hands through her hair, across her breasts.

He slid his hands inside the folds of his coat to clutch her hips. She gripped his wrists just as hard and arched her back even more. Every pounding of their joining made a pounding in her ears, chest, heart, mind soul. He was in her, she was wrapped in his coat, and they both were surrounded by the heavy, heated air they made together.

At her climax she screamed his name again and fell, exhausted, to his heaving chest.

He slid the coat from her arms, dropped it beside the bed, and wrapped the blankets around them both to sleep.

She woke first, unaccustomed to but happy for the weight of his arm around her waist, his ankle over hers, his chest warming her back. As dawn crept over the mountains, she could feel him slowly wake and stir behind her.

“Good morning,” he kissed her shoulder blade. She made a yummy sound in reply and massaged his wrist bone with her thumb.

Gently, slowly, he entered her. They made love spooned together, like a languid dance on soft sheets, with all the time in the world.

They dozed for another hour before he sat up on the side of the bed.

“Andraste preserve me, I forgot all my armor and most of my clothes in the Undercroft!”

She replied with a throaty laugh and kissed the little dimple below the small of his back.

“The smith—”

“Will probably not even go near the potions table, Cullen. And Dagna, though bubbly and talkative, can be discrete about such matters. Not that we should care.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his back. He reached up to hold her hand.

“I see your point.”

She snorted out a laugh. “And I’ve seen yours.”

“Ha, ha.”

He patted her hand and rose, trembling as she let her hands slide down his back and butt.

“I’ve got troop inspection in an hour, Inquisitor.” He pulled on his breeches.

“Of course, Commander,” she answered with mock seriousness and wiggling eyebrows. She lay on her belly, sheets and blankets bunched up around her butt, kicking her heels in the air. “You gonna leave your hair disheveled?”

“No.”

“You gonna let me dishevel it again tonight?”

“Yes.”

He held her chin and planted a quick smooch on her lips before heading for the stairs, where he paused and took a breath to steel himself before heading down through the main hall in nothing but his breeches.

She quickly cleaned up with the little basin on her table, dressed, and skimmed through all the reports she’d skipped last night. Leliana’s packet from Val Royeaux was a little lighter than usual; She’d ask about that later.

The Inquisitor did a merry skip down the stairs to the door, then composed herself with more decorum for entering the main hall. There wasn’t a war room meeting until after lunch, but she really should check in with the Ambassador.

“Hey, Josie—huh, not here.”

So she checked in on Solas, who had a sad story about ash bodies in a volcano; dropped some research items off in the library, and chatted with Dorian.

“You’re grinning so much I’m afraid you’re going to start drooling, my dear. As you haven’t complimented me on my new outfit yet, I must assume your glazed look is for another strapping, though not as keenly dressed, gentleman. Perhaps someone who roars at raw recruits?”

“So many buckles,” she sighed under her breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. We were going to practice ice walls, right? I always get stuck behind mine.”

As lunch approached and the second watch relieved the first, Trevelyan headed down to the sparring ring. Varric leaned on the fence and Cole sat by him on the upper railing, watching Cullen, Krem, and The Iron Bull talk about the Master Demon Slaying Rune Dagna had added to Bull’s ax.

She leaned on the fence by Varric.

“Your Inquisitorialness.”

“Varric, Cole.”

“Hello.”

Krem and Bull picked up some wooden shields to practice shield bashes. Cullen saw her and walked over.

“Good morning, Inquisitor.”

“Good morning again, Commander.”

“ _Four times. Four glorious times. She’s so—”_

“Oh-kay, kid,” Varric grabbed Cole’s arm and dragged him off the fence. “Let’s find some lunch.”

“I don’t eat.”

“You can keep me company.”

She couldn’t keep all her laughter in—it snorted out her nose. Cullen pursed his lips and cleared his throat.

She sighed.

“Training with The Iron Bull? I could enchant your blade.”

“Uh, no, thank you, we’re done for the day.”

“Then maybe I could enchant your blade this evening.

“Wide-eyed and speechless, I see.”

He reached across the fence and crushed her mouth in a kiss that was a bit too long and hard for such a public space.

“Speechless,” he said, rubbing her lower lip with his thumb, and then strut away toward the armory.

Dazed, she gripped the fence for support as she watched him enter the building and close the door behind him. When she looked up, Bull and Krem were staring at her—No, they were looking behind her with concern.

“Red’s ready to kill somebody,” The Iron Bull observed. “And she’s got none of her usual subtly about it.”

The Inquisitor turned to see Leliana storming away from the stables . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Why was Ambassador Josephine Montilyet not at her desk? Who does Leliana really want to kill and why?
> 
> My theory is that, after a few rounds of Wicked Grace, Josephine had more than a few drinks with Warden Blackwall, then woke up alone without any blanket in his hay loft. Of course, her dear friend Leliana—“It's not a real party until someone's smallclothes are pinned to a Chantry board”—Left Hand of the Divine and Spymaster of the Inquisition, finds and comforts her and vows to hunt Blackwall down herself.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Check out my Pinterest board for this story at https://www.pinterest.com/dafan7711/the-waterfall-in-the-undercroft-by-dafan7711-on-ao/


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